


Circus

by ElvenSemi



Series: Inspiration [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bar Scene, Birthday Party, Dancing, F/F, F/M, Varric setting everyone up, mild boner talk, strip club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric takes some of the Inquisition out to celebrate Cullen's birthday. Wacky antics ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circus

**Author's Note:**

> Both the next part of Bleeding Love and an integral part of the Haven-y stuff that I need to get out are giving me serious, SERIOUS trouble, so as an apology, have adorable, mindless fluff that takes place post-Haven. 
> 
> Thank goodness I decided to write all of this shit out of order for maximum confusion, eh?

“Where are we going again?” Lavellan asked for what felt like the hundredth time. “You know, I had to make an awful lot of promises to get out of meditation with Solas.” 

“It’s kind of like a bar,” Varric said evasively. “You’ll love it! Don’t be such a sourpuss, twinkle-toes. It’s for Cullen’s birthday!” 

“Believe me, the Inquisitor’s questions are for my benefit as well,” came Cullen’s voice from the middle of the group. “I trust you even less than she does.” 

“You guys wound me. Don’t I know how to show people a good time?” 

“I suppose if it was too strange, you wouldn’t have brought Cole…” Lavellan mused, glancing over at the blonde-haired boy, who was striding along, carefree as a bird, while admiring the sights (or whatever spirits admired, thoughts, maybe) of Val Royeaux. 

Their group actually consisted of half of her inner circle. Varric’s plans for “Cullen’s birthday” had trickled around Skyhold, hitting the right ears and avoiding the ones that might inquire further. Iron Bull was there, Krem dragged along behind him. Lavellan secretly wished he’d brought Dalish, whom she found hilarious, but Krem was almost always glued to Bull’s side, so she wasn’t surprised. Tellingly, Blackwall wasn’t there, nor was Cassandra, but Sera and Dorian were. Just the style of the group told her that Varric was up to no good. 

Wherever they were going, it was the first time anyone actually insisted she wear a mask into Val Royeaux. True, all the natives seemed to wear them, but she’d been content to let her vallaslin count as a mask and skip the strange custom. But Varric had gotten masks for them all, everything from a simple black and silver mask for Cole to a ridiculous affair with horns for Iron Bull. For her and Sera, Lavellan couldn’t help but notice, he’d gotten a wolf mask and a cat mask, respectively. Fair enough. They did fight, as the shemlen would put it, like cats and dogs. 

They arrived at the “bar,” a brightly lit affair with magical, glowing signs, and headed inside. She heard a groan, and saw Cullen try to make a break for it the second he got a good look around. He was intercepted by Iron Bull and Dorian, each one grabbing an arm as if they had been prepared to do so. While they soothed him, Lavellan tried to parse what exactly made him try to bolt. It looked like a rather fancy bar, to her. It was much larger than the one in Skyhold, with better furniture, and a large stage, no doubt for the bard to perform. There were seats and tables all along the stage, which she hadn’t seen before, but seemed like it might be fun. The clientele were a bit more… Orlesian… than she was used to, but that should hardly matter. The only thing that stood out to her as odd was a large pole on one side of the stage. She wasn’t sure what it was for. 

She looked at the reactions of her companions. Cole looked just as blank-faced as she did; clearly he wasn’t sure what was going on either. Iron Bull, Sera, and Dorian looked positively sinful, Varric was looking smug. Cullen and Krem were both looking like they were facing down a high dragon. 

Alright, that narrowed it down. It was either sexual or was some kind of bar that involved audience participation in songs on a giant stage. Either seemed likely at this point. 

“Come on!” Varric was wheedling. “It’s a unique part of Orlesian culture!” 

“Stop fussing, Cullen,” Lavellan said absent-mindedly. “I’m curious now, and you’re my only excuse for being here.” 

“I… but…” 

“Come on, let’s sit near the stage. At this point I’m hoping it’s an Orlesian fashion show.” 

As they were sitting down at a table, Varric off at the bar, ordering their drinks, no doubt, music began playing from a small band in the corner. The band, however, was clearly not the star of this particular show. Lavellan settled in between Cullen, who looked mortified, and an empty seat with an extra cushion for Varric. A woman walked out on to the stage in an outfit that could only be described as Orlesian. Lavellan commented in her surprise that she hadn’t _actually_ expected a fashion show, then the music took on a slow, sultry twist and the woman began to dance. 

-

Lavellan had never before considered the attractive nature of other women, but after watching a woman make direct eye contact with her while slowly removing her clothing, she began to sympathize with the position she once put Solas in, stripping in front of him. She was used to nudity, but the way these women did it, it seemed like… aggressive, in-your-face nudity, rather than the casual nudity of a shared bath. She found herself flushing and staring at the ground half as much as Cullen did. 

There was a lull between performances, and Varric took the moment to strike up conversation. 

“So, twinkle-toes, what do you think of Orlesian dancing?” 

“That is NOT the way most Orlesians dance,” Lavellan said firmly. “I’m quite certain of that. Josephine has been after to me to learn to dance for too long for that to be the case. Although, it certainly has been… educational.” She glanced over at Cole, who was looking nonplussed. 

“They want the women to remove their clothes, but as slowly as possible. I don’t understand,” he mused, seemingly to himself. 

Lavellan shook her head. “I can’t believe you brought Cole. At least now I understand why Cullen was trying to run.” 

“Hey, it’s his birthday! This sort of thing is traditional,” Varric protested. “That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask… when’s your birthday?” 

“Ignoring the fact that after a lead up like that, I’m not likely to tell you… From what I’ve gathered birthdays are, I don’t rightly know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Wait, more important, what do you mean from what you’ve gathered?” 

“It’s the day he was born, only you celebrate it every year. To celebrate that he was born?” 

“Yes, that’s what a birthday is, twinkle-toes.” 

“Dalish don’t have that. Not really. There’s a celebration when we come of age, and we get our vallaslin, but that’s determined by our maturity and skill, not our age. I know that it has been nineteen years since I was born and that I was born in the winter. My original clan may know more, but I do not.” 

“…Well, shit. We’ll have to do something about that.” 

A long silence stretched over their side of the table as Varric took a long drink from his mug of whatever. 

“…Varric, how long do erections stay hard?” 

The man choked into his drink, sending fluid spraying over his face and part of the table. It caught the attention of Iron Bull, who made a joke about dwarves not being able to handle their ale. 

“Maker’s balls, Lavellan, warn a man before you say something like that!” he choked. 

“Sorry! I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, but it never seemed appropriate! I figured, we’re already around half naked women…” 

Varric mopped off his face with one of the ludicrously clean rags that Orlesians owned specifically to dirty them with food. Bizarre. “What did you ask, how long a… Why? Why are you asking that? Specifically, why are you asking ME that?” 

“Well, fine then,” she said, feeling frustrated and a bit embarrassed by his reaction. “Hey Iron Bull!” she said loudly, ignoring Varric’s waving hands. “How long does a man stay hard for?” 

Iron Bull’s dropped jaw was priceless, but not nearly so much as Krem, who nearly fell out of his chair. Sera choked into her drink, and Dorian just began laughing uncontrollably. Lavellan kept her face serious. When the mocking was over, someone was bound to actually answer her. It’d been bothering her for a while. 

“Wow, boss, you really are the curious type. Depends on the situation, though. Got any details?” 

“I was just wondering in a general sense,” she said with a shrug. 

“If it’s been longer than three hours, call a healer,” joked Dorian, nudging Sera, who rolled her eyes. 

Iron Bull laughed. “Well, in a general sense, they stay hard as long as a guy wants them to, sometimes longer in awkward situations. Until they get bored, or… y’know,” he rubbed his head. “This is a weird question, even for you, boss. That the alcohol talking?” 

Lavellan chuckled. “Yeah, plus I was proving a point,” she said with a grin. Poor Cullen looked like he was about to keel over dead. This was why she loved having him around. She would always have someone more embarrassed than her about a given situation. 

Varric seemed to notice too, and decided to make everything worse on the would-be birthday boy. “Hey, that’s right, Cullen, we haven’t gotten you your birthday lap dance!” 

“Oh Maker no.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s on me!” Varric reassured him, as if that had any bearing on Cullen’s dread at all. 

Lavellan knew what kind of dancing was done here, and she was well aware of what laps were. And Cullen had been through enough torment in his life. A good amount of which she was responsible for, she was well aware. She decided to use her Inquisitorialness for good, for once. 

“Cullen’s been a good sport, Varric, giving us all an excuse for an evening out at his expense. I think I’ll call in a favor to rescue him from this.” 

Varric pouted, like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away, then, slowly, began to smile. 

“Oh no, I recognize that look,” she said, horrified. “What did I say?” 

“You’ll rescue him, of course! What else would we expect from the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition! So willing to lay down her life for another!” 

“What in Sylaise’s name are you-“ 

“Ma’am, would you be available for a dance for my friend here?” Varric caught the attention of an elven woman walking by in naught but an elaborate breast band and what might pass for smallcloths if the definition was stretched. 

The woman looked at the group, eyebrows raising. They must have looked a sight… Two elven women, a beardless dwarf, a spattering of human men, and a giant horned Qunari. “Which one?” she inquired. 

Varric, to Lavellan’s growing dread, pointed directly at her. 

“Hey, now, wait-“ she began, holding her hands up. But Varric was ignoring her, discussing pricing and other things Lavellan didn’t understand. 

“Weren’t you just talking about being a good sport?” Cullen asked with a smirk. She glared at him. 

“I am NEVER helping you again, Cullen,” she swore. 

“Ah, it’s good for you to get some experience in these things,” Iron Bull said with a grin. “Besides, I’ve seen you hit on Josephine, Cassandra, and…” He glanced at Sera. “I’m not sure if what you do with her is fighting, foreplay, or both.” 

“What, me and Inky? It’s fightin’, you great lout,” Sera said, waving her hand. “I don’t go for the elfy ones. But if we’re givin’ out free dances, I think I might enjoy one more than ‘er.” 

Varric and the elven woman seemed to have reached a concord. She turned to Lavellan. “Such a young one! A Dalish out to experience the real world?” The woman gestured towards Lavellan’s face, where the lower half of her vallaslin was still visible. “Do you know how this works, _da’asha?_ ” 

The emphasis on the last word made her flush. This was clearly no Dalish woman, clearly, but hearing a word Lavellan had once heard from Solas escape the sultry woman’s lips had a definite effect. “I… uh… no?” 

“You sit back,” she purred. “Don’t get handsy. And enjoy.” 

Lavellan’s hands stayed firmly rooted to her chair, with the kind of white-knuckled, iron-force grip that said even Iron Bull wouldn’t have been able to pry her loose. She suspected she looked like the halla that had just seen the hunter, too late to run. The dancer certainly possessed a hunter’s glint in her eye as she slowly approached the young Inquisitor, who was now extremely grateful for the silly mask, as well as aware of its purpose. It helped hide her terror, as well as her identity. “Herald of Andraste Receives Seductive Dance From Elven Woman” was not a story that needed to be circulating. 

The woman rested her hands upon Lavellan’s knees; apparently the ‘no hands’ rule applied to the lap and not the dance. Her hands danced up to the back of Lavellan’s chair and the woman leaned her whole body in, leaving Lavellan’s face embarrassingly close to her scantily clad breasts. Forget it; she owed Solas no apologies. It wasn’t as though she’d done _this_ to him! She took a deep breath as the woman slid down to squat between her legs, nails tracing soft outlines down her thighs. She shot Cullen a desperate look, but he seemed distracted, staring with such rapt attention that she would have guessed he was seeing Andraste, not a dancer. 

She could hardly blame him. As the woman slowly stood and stepped closer, turning around as she did so, Lavellan called upon Solas’ lessons of meditation and calming oneself in the face of a spirit who frightened her, forcing herself to calm as the woman’s rear slowly sinuated inches in front of her. 

“Ma emma harel, Varric,” she choked out. If the dance had such an effect on her, a woman who never considered the sexuality of another woman before (although she certainly was now), it would probably have effected Cullen in much the same way as a bolt of lightning. 

“I don’t know what it means, but from the look on your face, I’ll wager it means ‘gee, thanks, Varric.’” 

The woman spun back around and gently set her hands on Lavellan’s shoulders. 

“Eyes on me, princess,” she murmured, voice low and seductive. The sound that gurgled out from behind Lavellan’s lips may have been a whimper. That seemed to amuse the woman. “Aww, the puppy can’t handle a grown woman?” The dancer let her finger slide across the vallaslin on Lavellan’s lips. “Maybe the Dalish don’t know how to raise them after all.” She smirked and planted a light kiss on Lavellan’s mask, then straightened herself. “Well, I think you boys have gotten your money’s worth.” 

And just like that, she sauntered off, leaving Lavellan to melt down into the chair. 

“Fuck, that was hot!” came Iron Bull’s voice. How eloquent. Lavellan groaned. She thought herself jealous of Solas’ way with words, but if she possessed an ounce of that woman’s raw sexuality, even the stubborn elf would be putty in her hands, certainly. 

She turned back towards the table, face burning under the mask. “I’ll have my revenge, Varric,” she swore. “I don’t know when, or how, but I _will_ get you back for that.” 

“Heaving, hot, sweaty, flesh sticking to flesh, slick and wet-“ 

“Cole, please shut up.” 

-

She had taken a step outside, to catch some air and also to cool down. The heat inside was getting a little stifling. Unfortunately, she would have no chance to relax, because Varric joined her shortly. 

“So, twinkle-toes, I’ve been doing some reasoning, and the only erections I can imagine you being around that _weren’t_ in that room are Blackwall’s and Solas’.” 

Lavellan groaned, sinking down into a squat. She once saw a man in Val Royeaux faint in broad daylight. Surely no one here would mind if she punched Varric. 

“Well, rumor around the castle would indicate Blackwall’s, but _I’m_ thinking-“ 

“ **Varric. Leave it.** ” Her voice left no room for argument. Varric started. Lavellan could taste the iron in her own voice. “I deserve some privacy. I’ve given the Inquisition more than enough already. Take it as the joke it was meant to be.” 

Varric held up his hands. “Sorry. I know when I’ve crossed a line.” 

Her eyes darted back to the bar. “It’s fine. I think I know how you can make it up to me… and perhaps make up for that whole debacle in there.” 

“Oh?” 

-

“ _Dancing lessons?_ ” Josephine asked, her voice incredulous. “The Inquisitor wishes to take… dancing lessons? In Val Royeaux? This being the same Inquisitor who must be chased about to put on proper shoes?” 

“What can I say?” Varric said with a shrug. “This most recent trip to the city left her a little enthralled. Personally, I think it was the masks. And you know she’s been trying to learn the Game. She’ll need to dance eventually.” 

“Well, I can’t say I’m not pleased at this turn of events,” mused Josephine. “I’ll have to look into instructors.” 

“No need, Lady Montilyet,” Varric said with a smile. “The Inquisitor already has one picked out. Vivienne helped.” 

“Well, if Madame de Fer has had a hand in the selection, I’m sure it is masterful.” 

-

“I do this, and you get me those tomes?” Vivienne de Fer’s eyes crackled from over the top of a book of magic. 

“You have my word, Vivienne,” Lavellan promised. “As long as I have your silence.” 

“Hmph. I’d rather this little tidbit of information _didn’t_ get out. Do be discreet, dear.” 

“Don’t worry, Madame,” Lavellen said with a smirk. “I’ve got Varric writing my cover story.” 

-

The news that the Inquisitor would be taking dance lessons in Val Royeaux, when she had the time, spread lazily through the Inquisition. It was interesting only because it was slightly out of character. But the decision made perfect sense, and it wasn’t the first time the Inquisitor relented to do something she deplored because it was required of her. The news, in short, was boring, and quickly fell by the wayside for the latest gossip. 

And so, Lavellan was free to don her mask, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, and walk straight into the home of the elven dancer. Class was starting.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is bizarrely curious about the masks I envisioned our friends wearing (keep in mind they were picked out by Varric):  
> Lavellan: http://i60.tinypic.com/ev9qvs.jpg  
> Cole: http://i60.tinypic.com/o5dt13.jpg  
> Iron Bull: http://i62.tinypic.com/10z35l5.jpg  
> Cullen: http://i60.tinypic.com/sdk7y0.jpg (HE WOULD NEVER CONSENT TO WEAR IT BUT IT WOULD LOOK SO GREAT WITH HIS FLUFFY PAULDRONS)  
> Cullen in something he might actually consent to put on his face: http://i58.tinypic.com/1z240a0.jpg  
> Varric: http://i59.tinypic.com/2hn0qv4.jpg  
> Sera: http://i61.tinypic.com/2vsrt5j.jpg  
> Dorian: http://i57.tinypic.com/4r5o5l.png (hahah get it because Pavus means peacock >.> I'm so obvious)


End file.
